


Those Things

by elementalv



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-12-24
Updated: 2002-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalv/pseuds/elementalv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Buffy 'fessed up to Tara, all she said was she didn't know why she let Spike do "those things" to her. What things?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second story I ever wrote. Basically, if it's old, there are no guarantees that it _isn't_ crap!fic.

A low, throaty growl, "Slayer..." and she was taken by surprise again. Not by his appearance, but by her immediate, unthinking reaction. Moist heat shot down through her — no. Not going to say it, not going to think it. Bad enough that every muscle below her waist loosened in anticipation. No need to let her vocabulary take its cue from Penthouse.

A deep breath, then, "Spike." If she doesn't turn around, it's not like she's acknowledging him. Much. It's almost like she's — The thought dissolved in confusion as he nudged his hand under her arm, then drew it slowly down her side, taking special care around her breast.

"Stop it," she said, trying for authoritative, but just barely getting it above a whimper.

He leaned in, nuzzling her ear, then saying, "Make me. If you can."

At that, her spine stiffened. A little. "I can stop. Anytime."

"I don't think so," he said, licking the juncture between her neck and shoulder. "I know what you're thinking, and it doesn't have anything to do with stopping." He brought his other arm around her waist, snaking his hand down the front of her jeans.

"Y-you can't read my mind," she said, trying not to sound as uncertain as she felt.

"No. But I can sure as hell smell you, Slayer. And what I smell doesn't say, 'Stop, Spike.' In fact, pet, what I smell says, 'Bend me over that crypt and take me. Hard.'" A quick nip at her neck, and then, "As if I'd take you any other way."

She could feel his erection pressing against her ass, and she started moving against it, just a little. And in the same rhythm as his finger on her clit. A stray thought — that unlike Riley, Spike kept his nails short and filed smooth — brought her back to reality. She struggled and succeeded in dislodging him.

Turning abruptly, she threw a punch, connecting solidly with his nose. The crunch and spurt of blood were mostly satisfying.

His laugh as he wiped the blood from his face, however, was less satisfying. "Bloody hell, pet. We're moving through foreplay a bit quick tonight, aren't we?"

"This is not foreplay," she said, trembling with anger, heat and denied release. "We are _not_ do —"

Spike had pulled her to him, silencing her with a toe-curling kiss. Thought fled before the preorgasmic sensations that flooded through her.

Spike held her neck with one hand, using the other to undo her jeans. His earlier foray told him she was wearing one of the lacy thongs she knew he loved so much. She wouldn't have worn it if she hadn't thought she'd see him.

As she relaxed into his arms, he released her neck, moving to slide her jeans over her hips. She hadn't noticed the cool night air on her skin yet, and he was pleased. It meant that he succeeded, again, in making her forget everything but the feel of his hands, mouth, cock.

He nibbled at her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin and the blood so close to the surface. He wouldn't bite her neck — too many explanations. But there were other places to get a taste of her, and she was beginning to associate his bites with the orgasms that inevitably followed.

She didn't moan — it was too guttural for that — she growled, and Spike, once an insipid, mediocre man named William, knew she was at breaking point. He pulled away from her and, as promised, bent her over the crypt to take her from behind.

He freed his cock, enjoying the sound and smell of her desire, then started to slide it in. She responded immediately, moving backward to take him in, but he moved back as well.

She looked back and whimpered a little. When she saw that nothing was attacking, she said, "Spike? Please?"

He smiled, the tip of his cock just barely in, and said, "You haven't apologized for making me bleed, love." He nudged in a bit, then withdrew a little.

"Dammit!"

"Say it."

"I'm sorry!"

He plunged the rest of the way in, grateful she didn't drag it out any further.

~*~*~

In the shower the next morning, Buffy winced as she soaped herself. Spike's bite didn't hurt anymore, but the idea that she was letting him feed from her was nauseating and just added to her shame.

At least he confined his bites to her inner thigh. She didn't wear shorts that often, and the marks were easy to hide.

She stood in the hot spray, thinking that maybe one of these days, the spray would wash away her self-loathing. She was caught in a trap. The self-loathing started almost as soon as she realized how she had been ripped from heaven. If she had been truly deserving of that rest and peace, the Powers That Be never would have allowed Willow, Xander, Anya and Tara to resurrect her.

The logical part of her brain proclaimed her to be an idiot, but mostly, that voice was drowned out by shame, guilt and lust. And apathy. And disgust. And anger. She soaped up again, thinking about anger. She honestly didn't want to be angry with her friends, but if she thought about their selfishness for any length of time, she started to get royally pissed off. She expected that kind of behavior from Spike, but not her best friends. They should have know better, they should have —

"Not going there again, Summers," she murmured to herself. "That way leads to madness." And, let's face it, to Spike. The only time she felt halfway human was when they were having sex in all its variations. Her brain would virtually shut down, especially when Spike started nibbling at her nipples and working his way down. Getting tied up wasn't half bad, either, being stretched taut between the walls of the cave below his crypt, unable to prevent his hands, his tongue from going anywhere they would...

Crap. She turned off the hot water and let the cold water hit her full-force. It didn't work (it never did), but it got her out of the shower. She dried off and put on her blue robe. With her hair still wrapped in a towel, she went to Dawn's room. Although the door was open, she still knocked.

A good thing, because Dawn, standing at her dresser, jumped a mile high. "Tense, much?" Buffy asked in her fake-chipper voice.

Dawn turned — is that guilt? No, it's anger — and said, "No. No. Not at all. I just didn't expect anyone to knock. What do you want?"

On the defensive, she said, "Just thought I'd see if you want breakfast. I figured I could pull out the cereal boxes or maybe put a frozen waffle in the toaster."

And here comes the snark, "Gee, Buffy. You keep up all this gourmet cooking, and I won't know how to fend for myself when I move out."

Buffy concentrated on her toes. It was the only way she could keep from ramming her fist into Dawn's chest, pulling out her still-beating heart and shoving it down her throat. After a moment, she said, "Just thought I would ask," then she turned and went into her bedroom.

~*~*~

A few hours later, the house was clean and the laundry was done and Buffy was bored. Bored, bored, bored. She didn't have to work that day. As loathsome as the Doublemeat — what did Spike say? Double your pleasure, double your fun, double your meat. Only he could take a national brand and make it sound like a porn feature.

Unfortunately, his sing-song stuck. It was that damned tape. She hadn't believed him when he told her, so he rented a tape to show her. What was it called? _Double Penetration Sluts VI_. It worried her that there was a I through V out there as well. It also worried her that she was starting to obsess over the idea a little. A Spike-Angel sandwich, with her in the middle would "...be just the thing to send me completely over the edge. Not going into a mental hospital. Didn't like it the first time."

She was talking to herself again. With Willow and Dawn at school and Anya and Xander at work, there wasn't much for her to do other than talk to herself. Of course, she could talk to Spike. Eventually. And physical exercise of any kind could count toward training.

The justifications kept rolling through her mind as she grabbed a coat and locked up the house behind her.

~*~*~

She was in Spike's crypt before she had a chance to stop herself. He looked up when she entered, and a slow smile grew on his face. "Hello, cutie. Thought I might see you today."

"What? Why?" she asked, hating that she sounded so defenseless.

"You're not working today. What else would you think of to do on a day when you don't have much to do at all?"

"How did you know that?"

"You told me, remember?" He moved toward her, sinuous as a cat, his shirt unbuttoned.

Buffy fixated on his navel. Angel's navel was good, but Spike's was better. _Much_ better. He caught the scent of her desire — hot and sharp — and knew he could have her six ways from Sunday if he wanted.

She looked up, pupils dilated, breath coming faster. "What?"

"You told me your schedule," he said, sliding a hand under her shirt. No bra today. Good. Made it easier to find her nipple. He watched her face go sad when he took his hand away.

"So what would you like to do today, pet? Got a couple of new toys down below."

She wasn't thinking clearly — what he said, what she heard — two different things. There's no way he grew a second cock. "Toys?"

He smiled. It was the Evil Smile of Lust. And he knew just what affect it had on her. God, he couldn't believe how ready she was for him. Never would have thought they could get to this point a year ago. What he'd said to soldier-boy back then was true. He didn't think he had a chance. But persistence won the day. That and a bloody musical. Didn't matter how they got here. The fact is, they did.

He slid her coat off, let it fall to the ground. Her breathing and pulse became more erratic as she moved to slide his shirt off.

He stopped her, saying, "Don't think so, love. I think I'm calling the shots today." He gave a little chuckle when he heard her involuntary whimper. "Take your shirt off, pet. And do it slowly," he said, moving around her like a buyer in a car dealer's showroom. "Give each breast its due consideration. Think we'll start with Manna today."

Dammit. Why the hell did he have to name her breasts? And why, in the name of all that was holy, did she go along with it? Her left hand moved up, taking the hem of her t-shirt with it. She stopped just short of the aureola, to caress the underside of her breast. She didn't look at Spike while she played with her breast. She couldn't.

"Don't hide your face, Slayer. I want your head up, and I want you looking at me." She looked up at him, and he looked at her with approval. "I want you to think about my teeth on your nipple while you're playing with yourself." He smiled when he saw the nipple, hard and puckered, slip under the hem of the shirt. "That's my girl. Now bring out Honey. She deserves the same, don't you think?"

A part of her brain, small and insistent, told her she was better than this. Better than playing a starring role in a Penthouse fantasy. It lasted all of three seconds before it was drowned out by passion, lust. She knew it was wrong, but everything was washed away by the sound of Spike's voice, the sight of his pale body, cold as marble, pliant and soft as silk. The thought of what she would do to him, and he to her, took her over the edge. She stood there and shuddered as the orgasm rolled through her body.

"That's right, pet. Let the first one out of your system. Plenty of time for more. Take your shirt off all the way. I want a look at you."

He moved in, and she felt more like a horse up for auction. She wondered vaguely if he was going to check her teeth. He undid the button on her jeans, then pulled the zipper down slowly. She kicked off her shoes, and he slid her jeans off, all the while whispering, "You think you know who you are, don't you pet? But every time you come over, every time you come, that knowing gets knocked on its ass, doesn't it? Who'd have thought the champion of the world could get off on evil?"

"Damn you," she said, hating him, hating what he was doing to her, hating what she let him do to her and, above all, hating herself.

He grabbed her by the throat, lifting her off the ground, his anger taking both of them by surprise. He enjoyed the fear she suddenly felt, realizing that a male vampire had her completely at his mercy.

She struggled. She didn't think he would hurt her. Much. But she struggled, because he held her up by her throat and because she was completely naked. Not completely. She still had her socks on, but she didn't think they would do much good against the fury in his eyes. Or the lust.

She croaked, "Spike..."

"Shut up. I'm tired of this little game you play. It's time you and me had a talk." He dropped her then pushed her toward the hole in the ground.

God help her, but she was getting turned on by this little scene. If it was a scene. She wasn't sure.

He pointed at the ladder and said, "Down. Now."

"Spike..."

"_NOW_."

She did what he told her. She hadn't seen a vampire in full fury since Angelus, and she wasn't entirely certain she would survive if she tried to thwart Spike. If she could get him to calm down, she'd get dressed and leave. Or grab her clothes, leave, _then_ get dressed. It all depended.

When she stepped away from the ladder, he didn't even bother with it. He just jumped down the hole, knees bunching slightly when he landed. He stood straight, legs slightly apart.

"Go to the chest and pull out the ropes."

"You're not going to tie me up," she said, fear and desire coloring her voice.

"No? Care to make a wager on that? Get it."

His power shimmered around him, and Buffy suddenly understood that getting out of here alive meant doing exactly what he told her. Her nipples tightened and her stomach clenched as she pulled the ropes out of the chest. They were soft, and they wouldn't leave any tell-tale marks.

She handed them to him and would have tried once more to talk to him, but the look on his face stopped her. He worked quickly, tying off each wrist, then tying each rope to rings embedded in the walls. After her arms were tied, stretched taut so that her body formed a cross, he went back to the chest for more rope.

"Please, not my legs," she said, pleading.

"Please, not my legs," he repeated, mocking her as he tied off one ankle, then the other, so that she was spread-eagled, stretched further than a normal human girl could have been. "Please, not in front of my friends. Please, not with you looking." Still kneeling in front of her, he grabbed her hips and started licking and nibbling at her clit, dipping his tongue into her cunt for a taste of her juices. He felt her tense up, ready for another orgasm, then stood up and away from her.

She cried out in frustration. "That frustration you feel doesn't come near to matching mine."

He shook his head and started pacing. "Why do you come here?"

"Spike, please," she said, her hips moving in supplication and invitation. "Please..."

"No. Answer my question. Why do you come here?"

"You know why."

"No. I don't. You think I'm an idiot, so treat me like one. Spell it out for me."

She didn't want to talk about this. She wanted him in her so she wouldn't have to think about anything but the pure, physical sensation of him. She wanted out of the ropes. She wanted not to talk.

"Spell. It. Out. For. Me."

She swallowed, then said, "I come here for sex."

"You're supposed to fight evil, Slayer, not fuck it. Why do you come here?"

"The-the sex is good. You're good in bed."

"Yeah. And I'm a vampire. Why haven't you killed me?"

"The chip —"

" — Doesn't work on you. I could beat you 'til you're dead, and it wouldn't even notice. Remember? You're not quite human anymore, and I'm not helpless Spike anymore. And isn't helpless Spike the reason you keep giving your friends for not killing me?"

She was confused. What the hell did he want?

"I love you, Buffy. And you won't see that, will you? You keep telling yourself that a soulless demon can't love. And that you can't love a soulless demon. But it's not working, is it? You keep showing up at my doorstep, letting me do things to you that soldier-boy and that pouf in L.A. never would have dreamed of. You claim to love them, but you never would have let them do what I do."

She _so_ did not want to hear this.

He moved in close, viciously twisting one of her nipples. "You love what I do to you, here in the shadows. You love knowing your violence has an equal." He moved his hands to her ass, kneading the cheeks, pulling them apart. He pressed her hips to his so she could feel his cock, hard and restrained, caught between them.

He bent his head to her neck and bit down with human teeth. It was enough to make her come, her body arched forward as much as possible, her head back, her neck bared. "You pretend, Buffy. You pretend none of this is real, even when it's the most real it ever gets. You pretend to feel nothing for me, but if it were true, you'd have staked me by now. You haven't, though. Lie all you want, but I know the truth. You love me." He thrust his hips forward, and the dry fuck caught her by surprise. The denim sent her sensitized clit into overdrive.

He broke away from her and struggled to get himself under control again. When he turned back to her, his face was empty of emotion. "I love you. I can't help that. I try, and it doesn't work. So I'm gonna take what I can get from you." A leer crept onto his face. "And right now, it looks like I can get pretty much anything I like. Including that tight little asshole of yours."

~*~*~

A few hours later, slightly bruised and aching, she let herself into her house. No one was home. She walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. She hesitated for a moment, then dialed the number.

"Tara? It's Buffy. I need to talk to you about something..."


End file.
